Imagine this: after a terrible cup of coffee and reading three chapters of "Dune" over four and half hours of sleep deprivation, you land in Perth, Australia. You take one step outside in the blazing UV-11 sun in a matching green sweatsuit you’ve been wearing for over 36 hours to cushion the United Airlines economy seat. Your pores immediately start exuding any water and salt left in your body. You look up and see the Indian Ocean sparkling into the abyss of a turquoise horizon. Sleep deprivation and dehydration subside to the largest amount of dopamine you’ve felt in days.
Because you just left America and its whirlwind of winter storms and political angst, you can already feel the laid-back climate of flat whites and jorts. You begin to relearn why you chose Perth: lush beaches, kangaroos and exploring the point furthest away on Earth from your hometown. "Now’s the time," everyone says. "You’re gonna remember these months for the rest of your life."
"Just like those first moments in college," you think.
As you begin to take it all in, waves of déjá vu hit you. It all feels too familiar. You, a new place and mixed emotions. You try to distract any anxiety you have by meeting your friend and her mom for a lovely dinner, rejoicing at carbohydrates and water with ice. You shower, sleep and begin to feel like a human being.
Then, you wake up. Emotions begin to curdle in your stomach. The thought hits you, the thought you’ve been avoiding for months, the thought that makes you feel riddled with uneasiness: orientation.
Eventually, the moment has arrived. The Uber pulls up. You haul your luggage. At a moment when you begin to think everything is going as expected, as thought through, an RA mentions “dance practice” for “freshers.” You look at your friend — you both know you’re freshers but don’t remember a dance being mentioned in the program description. Sweat hits your forehead, again.
Little do you know that for the next week, you and ten other Notre Dame students will spend four hours everyday dancing in the same bright yellow shirt under the beating Australian sun. The shirt will permanently smell like sweat. You may have a drop of water left in your body when it’s all said and done. Every moment, you remember that this experience is familiar. It’s the seemingly universal first-year experience at college (or “uni” for Aussies).
When me and my friends had this experience — that I keep reminding everyone of — we constantly referenced our own Notre Dame Welcome Weekend memories. In both Australia and America, we had the quintessential coming-of-age moments of discovering what to do and who to talk to.
When I first experienced Welcome Weekend at Notre Dame, I felt anxious and out of place, as many students do throughout their experience. I didn’t know anyone in my classes. Nothing quite clicked at first. I thought everything mattered, but it didn’t.
This time around, we all leaned into discomfort and silliness (that is, until the sun got the best of us). Because I entered with friends and a junior’s perspective, I am beginning this term with an invaluable social security to navigate an otherwise daunting four months. Because of my peers, friends and junior mindset, I was more committed to the “fresher experience” than I was the first time in 2022. For example, a first year me would not have been a fan of learning a five-minute dance to compete against four residential colleges. Junior me (eventually) found it to be a comedy and respectable competition. I mean, when else in your twenties can you dance to “Gasolina” and “Who Let the Dogs Out?”
Redmond (Reddy) Bernhold is a junior studying biochemistry and journalism. He originally hails from Minster, Ohio but calls Siegfried Hall his home on campus. When not writing, he explores South Bend coffee shops and thrift stores. You can contact Reddy at rbernho2@nd.edu.
